


Belle's Handiwork

by andachippedcup



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andachippedcup/pseuds/andachippedcup





	Belle's Handiwork

Belle fancies herself quite the warrior.

The war has come and gone. He ensured she played no role in it and he suspects she is resentful of his attempts at protecting her. Since Regina’s fall, Belle has struck deal after deal with him in exchange for lessons in the various arts of self defense. At first he’d thought it was a passing fancy, so he’d indulged Belle.

Now though, he’s slightly concerned.

Shooting lessons with Emma came first. Not something he’d particularly had a problem with. There was something strangely seductive about watching his little Belle grip a Smith & Wesson tightly in her dainty hands and then rattle off round after round. He’d rather enjoyed watching her, those protective red earmuffs framing her face as she wrinkled her nose in concentration. Both hands on the gun, left leg in front and right leg back, shoulders forward, her body absorbing recoil after recoil with each shot.

No, shooting lessons had been  _fine_. Attractive in the extreme and the added peace of mind it gave him had been a nice little bonus. Granted, now that magic had returned to the world he very much doubted she’d have use for a gun, but still. It made her feel better.

Her second request had been less well received. Hand to hand combat had been the demand; something physical she’d said. Like karate or Jiu-Jitsu or kickboxing or something of the like.

He’d agreed on the condition she had to  _practice_  doing the kicking and fighting, not _being kicked or punched or attacked_. She’d pouted at that one for a good long while but finally she’d come around. Surprisingly, Snow White had proven most instructive in this regard, though he’d refrained from watching. The idea of Belle being engaged in mortal combat with a foe, being forced to fight in such a physical manner for her safety? It made him physically  _sick_.

The hand to hand combat had kept her distracted for quite some time. But eventually she’d insisted on adding to her arsenal. She’d taken sword fighting lessons from Prince James. Rumplestiltskin had vehemently insisted on magically protecting the blades so that no damage could be done (to Belle, anyway; James was on his own). This had been followed by knife  _throwing_  (he’d rolled his eyes at this one, but let it pass).

All the while, Belle was nothing but smiles and girlish charms. Looking at her, one would never suspect that there was a half crazed little self defense expert in the making beneath that innocent façade.

Rumplestiltskin had to remind himself of this often; it was becoming increasingly difficult to win any of the good natured arguments they tended to have. After all, one moment he’d be holding her in his arms in bed, her all nice and cuddled up against him as they whispered sweet nothings to each other. And the next, he’d find himself on his back, pinned and Belle grinning triumphantly above him with some little quip about his reflexes slowing with age, or her pondering aloud what to do with him now that she had him ‘at her mercy’.

Well…. Perhaps her newfound physical prowess wasn’t  _all_  bad. But it certainly made her difficult to argue with. If they were keeping score, he’d be losing splendidly (but was it really losing? It certainly didn’t  _feel_  like losing).

——

And so, Rumplestiltskin resigned himself (rather cheerily, he supposed) to Belle’s goal of becoming proficient at most every manner of self defense (and offense, really). He grudgingly allowed for their home to play host to her various instructors, Emma and Snow White and Prince James (the whole damn  _Charming Family_ , really). They were all frequent visitors and Belle was thoroughly thrilled by it.

So naturally, he couldn’t be anything less than tolerant of it; if it made his darling wife happy, it was as good as done in his book.

Her latest venture, however, had him fearing for the well-being of everything on their property and beyond. Archery. Hardly a safe spectator’s sport, he’d thought with a chuckle. Charming instructed her on it most proficiently though, so he’d been content to watch from his safe vantage point in the house

Belle had taken some time to get the hang of the bow and arrow. She’d seemed rather fond of the way the whole thing worked though. He’d caught her admiring the bow in his collection, running her fingers along the smooth, sleek wooden surface with an appreciative, appraising gaze. Belle liked that archery, more so than anything else she had studied (save perhaps for sword fighting) was an  _art form_. There was a natural grace and rhythm to it, a fluidity and beauty that she felt oddly drawn to. She lacked the raw talent of a true archer, but her determination helped make her at least proficient.

And all the while, Rumplestiltskin watched. And smiled.

——

He’d only left her briefly; James had been with her, giving her further instruction to improve her accuracy with the bow and she’d had a whole quiver of arrows at the ready. Rumplestiltskin had business with Jefferson to attend to and he’d assumed that, after so many lessons in so many different disciplines, she’d be fine on her own with James for the twenty or so minutes he’d take to do business with the hatter over tea.

He hadn’t even been concerned when Emma had shown up, as Belle had apparently decided to double book her lessons and fit in some shooting practice following archery. He’d directed her to the backyard with a mumbled warning about the sharpshooter being in mid-practice. Emma had nodded with a smile and proceeded outside.

He and Jefferson had just been reviewing some promising maps Rumplestiltskin had recovered while sipping at their tea when the scream had pierced the quiet.

In a flash, Rumplestiltskin had appeared at Belle’s side, worries about meeting an untimely death by a stray arrow of hers disregarded as his fear for her overcame all thoughts of personal safety. She had a hand clamped over her mouth as she trembled, but she was entirely whole and unharmed. It was only then that Rumplestiltskin turned and saw Emma in a heap on the ground. James was frozen in horror next to Belle, a single hand extended toward his full grown daughter’s fallen form.

At this point Jefferson, who had  _not_  used magic to transport him outside, appeared and taking in the scene, went instantly to Emma. Brushing back her blonde hair, he stared at the arrow embedded in the woman’s chest, right over the location where her heart ought to be.

He cast a nervous glance to Rumplestiltskin, and Belle began to shake violently in her husband’s arms.

“I killed her, didn’t I?” She whispered, tears streaming down her face. Rumplestiltskin looked at Belle and then to James, whose face was white. It was only at that moment that Rumplestiltskin took notice of exactly which bow his beloved had been using.

“Belle…” he intoned gently, trying to coax coherent thoughts out of her, “Is this the bow and are these the arrows you shot her with?” A stifled sob and a jerky nod. Rumplestiltskin ducked his head, trying to hid his smirk in Belle’s mahogany locks. He watched with an intent (but hidden) grin as Jefferson tenderly removed the arrow from Emma’s chest.

_3…2…1._

Emma’s body twitched violently for a moment and then she took a deep gasp of air. Everyone but Rumplestiltskin froze, eyes glued to the Savior as she seemingly rose from the dead. Jefferson gently probed the space in her chest where moments ago the arrow had been embedded, but his fingers came away clean, not a single drop of blood upon them.

“Watch it!” Emma had intoned sharply but somewhat groggily. It was at that moment that Emma’s eyes met Jefferson’s. Rumplestiltskin grinned as a knowing crackle of electricity pulsed through the air and then vanished without a trace. The others didn’t feel it (bless their little souls) but Rumplestiltskin had. He knew what that pulse meant. And so he looked upon his wife’s handiwork delightedly, grinning like a loon as Jefferson offered Emma a hand and helped her up.

“My apologies; just checking for mortal injuries. You did just have  _that_ in your chest, to be fair.” Jefferson defends himself. There’s a note of sarcasm, but it’s rather watered down by the time he finishes his sentence. Hard to be sarcastic when there’s a beautiful woman staring at you  _that way_.

“Are you sure you’re alright? That was a nasty hit you took.” Jefferson breathes and Emma is slow to respond, dazed in a way that the others don’t yet understand, save for Rumplestiltskin. Belle looks at him, confusion bright in her freshly watered eyes.

“I don’t understand… h-how-?” He shakes his head at her and pushes the bow and another arrow to her.

“Perhaps you ought to ask before you use any of my trinkets love. Fortunately, all you’ve done this time is plant a bit of love in the world.” He grins and there’s a few moments of silence before both James and Belle comprehend his meaning.

“Cupid.  _Cupid’s arrow?_ ” Belle questions and Rumplestiltskin can only nod.

James, however, looks slightly less pleased.

“You mean that arrow just… made her fall in _love…_ with _him_?” He’s definitely not pleased. And no grand mystery why – Jefferson  _is_  the man that kidnapped his wife and drugged his daughter,  _once upon a time_.

“Oh I wouldn’t say it ‘made’ her do anything. It simply encouraged feelings that were already there.” Rumplestiltskin grins wolfishly, watching as Emma stares at Jefferson like it’s the first time she’s really seen him.

With a gentle movement, Rumplestiltskin takes the quiver of arrows and, seeking Belle’s hand, guides her gently back into the house. As he passes Jefferson, he grabs up an arrow from the quiver and with a fair bit of force, lodges the tip firmly in the young man’s back.

He doesn’t look back, but from the resulting thud and yelp from Emma, he assumes Jefferson has passed out and the arrow has already done its work.

 _Splendid_.

——

Belle gives up on the archery after the Cupid’s arrow mishap and her obsession with self defense cools considerably, though she does keep up with her shooting (much to Rumplestiltskin’s satisfaction). However, she’s hard pressed to fit in a lesson seeing as her instructor has suddenly found herself rather busy. Emma is finding it’s difficult to balance her duties as Sheriff-Knight-Princess with responsibilities as mother to Henry and girlfriend to Jefferson. Well, perhaps not difficult, but rather  _time consuming_.

“Rum, I haven’t been shooting in  _two weeks_.” Belle sighs to him as they walk hand in hand  through the garden.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have shot your instructor.” He chuckles in response, eliciting a hurt pout.

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Well, maybe Emma thinks that you’re going to try target practice on her with a gun next.”

“Or maybe Jefferson’s afraid you’re going to stab him with another arrow!” She counters, and Rumplestiltskin merely grins.

“The arrows were your inadvertent handiwork, as I recall.” She frowns for a moment but instead of challenging him on this, she refocuses the conversation.

“How am I going to improve if I can’t practice?” She queries. Suddenly he stops, snakes a hand about her waist and tucks her up against him.

“I believe you’ve forgotten that you are married to a registered gun owner. And he’s not a bad shot. In fact, he has a rather good eye.”

“Oh, as if he’d teach me.” She snorts with a little toss of her head.

 _“Oh, he’ll teach you.”_ Rumplestiltskin smirks moving so he’s standing behind her, his hands going to her arms and gently guiding them into the proper posture. His face hovers in the curve where neck meets shoulder, whispering his instructions softly to her. He can see the soft flush of her cheeks deepen, can see the goosebumps rise on her skin and it only elicits a grin.

“Marvelous posture, dearie.” He comments . “But you do seem a bit… _tense_.”  He remarks, his fingers tracing soothing lines up and down her arms and sides.

“Is that so?” She breathes, completely wrapped up in his instruction.

“It is. I think we need to loosen you up some before we continue this lesson….”

——

Belle quickly forgets about her missed lesson with Emma; she won’t begrudge the savior of a happily ever after of her own with her new love. So when Belle and her newfound instructor run into the blonde Sheriff, clad in her usual leather jacket and with Jefferson in tow, Belle offers up a warm smile. Emma, however, does not return the favor.

“Belle! Oh  _crap_ , I completely forgot, we had a lesson today, didn’t we?” She winces, clearly apologetic. Belle only smiles all the more.

“Oh, it’s fine. I still got in some practice.” She neglects to say what exactly she was practicing as she and her husband share a knowing look.

“Oh. You did? With who? I mean, that’s great, I just didn’t know-” Emma’s babbling, so Belle doesn’t mind interrupting her.

“It turns out my husband’s rather a bit of a sharpshooter himself. It’s fine Emma. Really.” Emma gives Rumplestiltskin a surprised look, and then returns her focus to Belle.

“Oh. I see. Well… I’m glad you didn’t go without a lesson today. I do feel bad for missing.”

Belle releases her husband’s hand gently, and strides forward to clasp Emma in an awkward hug (Jefferson has no intention of letting go of Emma’s hand, so she can only clumsily return the gesture with her one free hand).

“It’s alright Emma. I’m happy for you two. Young true love is precious. It should be nourished. Spend time with your knight in shining… top hat.” Belle beams before darting away and back to Rumplestiltskin. Jefferson tips his hat to the pair of them as an incredulous Emma watches the pair stroll away without another word.

“Young true love?” Rumplestiltskin questions.

“Oh hush you. It’s true.” She chides.

“So if ‘young’ true love is to be nourished, what are we, dearie? I’m hardly young and you’re hardly old.” He’s teasing her, she knows, but Belle is entirely serious when she stops and presses herself into his arms.

“We are  _eternal true love_ , dearie.” She breathes, looking deep into his eyes. “We’re the love that they write books about and everyone the world over  _envies_.”

And she is, as always he thinks,  _entirely correct_.


End file.
